


What the Stage Brings Out in You

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Barebacking, Comeplay, M/M, Slight marking/possession kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:24:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam’s not sure why he thought pushing Harry off-stage would be a good idea, but from the look on Preston’s face and with due reflection, Liam guesses it wasn’t his best. He’ll blame Zayn for that, the way he looks in his leather jacket under all these lights a little blinding, the chapped red of his mouth around the water bottle he throws out to the crowd after a single sip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What the Stage Brings Out in You

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Carla ([Turtles](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtles/profile)) for the speedy beta when we were both too exhausted to look at it again.

Liam has rules about things like this, but when Zayn grabs his wrist and turns him around during “Teenage Dirtbag” rules 5-17 are suddenly empty bullet points that rearrange into ellipses in Liam’s brain, everything trailing off at _Zayn..._

He snaps back quickly, or at least he hopes so, because him staring blankly and standing frozen in the middle of their stage being caught on thousands of iPhones from 360 degrees is a mortifying thought. Maybe not as mortifying as them capturing the after, when Zayn has shimmered away and Liam has to bend to hit his note and stealthily adjust the crotch of his trousers, but still troubling. 

The rest of the concert is easy, compared to that; Zayn sticks to his own allotted course and Liam sticks to his like glue, desperately watching from his peripheral vision as Zayn tackles Louis and whispers with Harry and lets Niall sling an arm around his skinny shoulders. Liam’s better at looking and not touching when Zayn isn’t, y’know, touching him. 

They get through “What Makes You Beautiful” and Zayn takes Harry’s side in the usual shenanigans, which is probably a blessing. Liam’s not sure why he thought pushing Harry off-stage would be a good idea, but from the look on Preston’s face and with due reflection, Liam guesses it wasn’t his best. He’ll blame Zayn for that, the way he looks in his leather jacket under all these lights a little blinding, the chapped red of his mouth around the water bottle he throws out to the crowd after a single sip. 

Liam’s so warm he thinks he’s going to pass out as he jumps back down through the trap doors at the end, and he stumbles a little on the mats they’ve got laid out after that time Niall tried to do a somersault and nearly crushed his spine in. He looks around for the other boys and they’re all wearing the same look Liam guesses he is, incredulous awe and exhaustion and psychotic glee. Zayn’s the closest, but it wouldn’t matter, the way Liam tackles him is practiced and he could manage it from any distance, still get in a good ruffle to his quiff before Zayn’s reacting. Louis snorts and he and Harry are still laughing about some fan sign with Niall, don’t further acknowledge the way Liam shoves Zayn up against the cool block wall of the hallway and fisting his hands in Zayn’s jacket, tugging it off his shoulders and pinning his arms, pressing their chests together. "You ever gonna fuckin' quit, Malik?"

Zayn’s surprisingly good at keeping a cool front, even though his chest is heaving and there’s a giddy smile playing at the corners of his lips. He’s not even fighting back, or defending himself, just lets Liam hold him up and press down on his shoulders. “Haven’t considered it, nah. What’s in it?”

Disbelievingly, Liam shakes his head and drops it to Zayn's shoulder. He's still trying to get his breath back, but there’s never enough time for the two of them and Liam’s not going to waste what they have, shoves a hand down the front of Zayn's trousers to palm roughly at his crotch. 

Behind them, Louis wolf-whistles. He probably can't see anything, and it might not even be directed at them, but Liam doesn’t really care if it is. 

Zayn’s head snaps back against the wall and he’ll whine about it later, insist Liam coddle him with scalp massages and ice packs, but for now he just moans, shoves his hips forward into Liam’s touch and body. Somewhere- Liam isn’t sure of direction, now- Louis says, “oh shit,” lowly, and this probably is directed at them. Liam still doesn’t care, vaguely processes the sound of receding footsteps and hopes the lads have the decency to distract the crew from breaking down set or coming looking for them just yet.

He can easily feel out the shape of Zayn’s prick in his pants, trapped against his thigh, and it’s tight, Liam’s hand bitten by the back of the trouser zipper, but he grinds the heel of his palm down, presses his mouth to Zayn’s neck in a sloppy half-kiss, half attempts to find Zayn’s pulse with his tongue.

Fitting his mouth over Liam’s neck, in turn, Zayn’s much more teeth than lips or tongue. Liam discovered early on- before they were together, even- that Zayn just likes biting, not to hurt him or mark him, necessarily, and it’s a good kind of surprising, one that makes Liam’s thoughts scramble and his resolve waver. “There’s people,” Zayn exhales, even as he’s rocking his hips down on Liam’s hand.

Liam presses forward further, grinding against his own hand in Zayn’s trousers and grunting. Honestly, he doesn’t care, but there are rules for this too and he backs away with a single last press of his lips to Zayn’s throat, carefully pulling his hand back before he steps away. “Good show, mate,” he says, gives Zayn a nod, can’t keep his eyes from seeking out the bulge in his jeans and grinning as he looks back up.

“Fucker,” Zayn spits, adjusting himself and stepping away from the wall to shove at Liam’s shoulder, hitch an arm around his neck. Liam lets himself be used as a shield, not even trying to hide his laughter as Zayn hipchecks him viciously on their way past security and stage-hands, down the corridor. 

They’re just to the dressing rooms when he grabs Zayn’s wrist, pressed tight against his neck, and squeezes, turns his head to nuzzle Zayn’s ear. “Make it up to you later, yeah?”

“You’d better,” Zayn snaps back with not quite as much bite anymore. It’s the little touches that break him, the tiny smiles and silly jokes and shoulder-pats from Liam that absolutely melt down his resolve to be mad at Liam, and Liam knows it well. He looks at Liam, then, zeroes in on him like there’s no one else in the room and _smiles_ \- and just as quickly the moment is over, Zayn ducking out from under Liam’s arm to go grab a lukewarm shower before they head back to the bus.

For his part, Liam grabs a quick snuggle with Harry on the worn-out sofa and pours a soda over Louis’ head as they wait their turns for the bathroom. He has to keep busy, is the thing, can’t let his mind wander to thoughts of Zayn scrubbing through his hair under a weak stream of water, the way it makes his tattoos look stark against the paled tan of his body. 

It seems like it takes forever, but finally Paul shouts that their forty minutes are up, and Harry is dragged bodily out of the shower with foamy suds still in his hair so they can be rushed onto the bus before fans break down the barricades behind the venue. Liam feels a little bad for laughing, but when Harry doesn’t even seem bothered, just bee-lines for the kitchenette sink and asks Louis if he’ll get his nape, they’re all cackling.

Niall settles in a corner of the couch with a bag of crisps to watch, and Liam grabs Zayn around the waist, falls into the opposite corner. There’s no security, no staff to worry about; Paul’s up front with the driver, coordinating directions and schedules, but other than the boys they’re alone, and Liam doesn’t feel guilty or reluctant, even, to tug at Zayn’s tank until he’s got his hands on still-warm skin, grinning up at him.

“C’mere,” Zayn rolls his eyes, wriggles in Liam’s lap and kisses him with a hand at the back of his neck, like coming up for air after being underwater. It’s quick, a gentle hint of tongue and a graze of his teeth, as always, and then he settles with his head on Liam’s shoulder to watch Louis pour water down the back of Harry’s shirt.

Eventually Louis ends up popping in The Avengers (faithful to his crusade of proving to Liam that Marvel is much better than DC) and curling into Niall’s side on the sofa, one of Niall’s arms slung over the back. Harry loses his soaked shirt and doesn’t replace it, sits on the floor with his head tipped onto Louis’ knee, and it’s _normal_ , the way they all ignore each other’s muscle twitches from the leftover adrenaline of performing, laugh into each other’s necks.

Liam could be content with this, probably, the weight of Zayn all down his front, the nervous flexing of Zayn’s fingertips against his knee, the warmth that’s melding them into one big shape of after-show good spirits and tired energy. But Zayn’s been egging him on all night, and Liam can finally touch, now, finally turn the tables. He’s slow about it, can’t be too obvious or Zayn will shy away, but his hands move gradually, up Zayn’s chest to his abs and then down to the waistband of his trousers, and he starts tracing an easy pattern with his fingers, shifts his hips up against the small of Zayn’s back to the same tempo.

Zayn’s resolve runs thin swiftly- they’ve had a long day, and time not spent touching and kissing and tasting each other, now, is simply wasted. After Liam grinds his semi a bit too enthusiastically against Zayn’s tailbone and unsuccessfully chokes back a groan, Niall gives them a wary look from the other end of the sofa. “Fine,” Zayn huffs, uses a hand on Liam’s thigh for leverage to get up, and he mouths along to Robert Downey Jr.’s lines on screen as he pads to the back of the bus, obviously expecting Liam to follow.

“Have fun!” Harry says, obnoxiously loud and overly supportive, does a little shimmy-cheer from the floor. Liam hopes he doesn’t break out the S-E-X chant again, although the routine was kind of cute. He waggles his fingers in a half-hearted wave at the three of them as he steps into the hallway to the bunks, sliding the door shut behind himself. 

Zayn is already in his bunk- that is, Liam’s- wriggling out of his jeans. He’s got them to mid-thigh and is having to undo his belt-buckle, slender fingers working at it with his tongue between his teeth, tip out between his lips, awkward in his hurry. Liam sinks to his knees in the hall, batting his hands away to slip the buckle loose and pull Zayn’s legs out over the edge of the bunk, gripping the denim and yanking them to his ankles. Zayn laughs, a high, gaspy sound, and reaches for Liam’s shoulders, fingers grasping at his shirt and pulling it up around his neck until Liam helps and together, they get it over his head.

“C’mon,” Zayn mutters, “Thought you had somethin’ to make up for.”

“You know, you really ought to be more-” Liam starts, and Zayn smashes their lips together, pulls Liam into the bunk on top of himself. Zayn kisses playfully, lunges back in to suck Liam’s lips when he tries to pull back for air and smiles into it at Liam’s sounds of frustration. Liam manages, finally, to slip a hand into Zayn’s still-damp hair at his crown and hold him in place as he sits up as best as he can without hitting his head on the ceiling. “Zayn, c’mon.”

“I _know_ I ought to be more,” Zayn waves a hand, licks his lips in a way that’s entirely unfair and distracting. “Not tonight, Li, please? We’re even, from the- the stuff on stage, yeah?”

Liam’s not even sure he knows exactly what Zayn’s talking about, but honestly it’s something that he’s gotten used to over the last three years. The thing is that sometimes Zayn talks and all Liam hears is white noise; not because he doesn’t pay attention, just because Zayn’s mouth does this _moving_ thing, and Liam’s brain shorts out. Zayn can always tell, though, so Liam isn’t too worried that it’s an issue. He tries to nod along though, and a little too late, gives Zayn a “Yeah, w’good.” 

He’s still half falling out of the bunk, legs over the edge, and he takes their breather to crawl more securely in, straddling Zayn’s lap and bracing on his hands above Zayn’s shoulders. Looking at him, he can tell Zayn’s already flushed from the proximity; literally and metaphorically, most like. There’s something about Zayn in these moments that always catches Liam off-guard, makes it feel like a first time.

“Hey,” he whispers, clears his throat when it comes out all funny and weirdly-pitched. Zayn grins at him wickedly and Liam feels himself blush, reaches up to scratch through his hair out of habit.

“Hey,” Zayn echoes and pulls his lip between his teeth. Liam’s learned that it’s- as much as Zayn _knows_ he’s attractive, he’s also self-conscious and ridiculous and it only comes out in glimpses, little signals of self-doubt left over from pining and sighing after Liam. This is- _they_ are- still, generally speaking, pretty new, but kissing and touching is familiar enough.

“You practically gave Harry a lovebite onstage,” Liam says, pokes at Zayn’s ribs a little to lighten the mood. It’s just. He shouldn’t be nervous, right? It’s _Zayn_.

Zayn, who drags him down for another round of kisses and ends up palming at his crotch and isn’t smiling as much, anymore. “Wouldn’t wanna give Harry a lovebite,” he shakes his head, sharp canines catching Liam’s mouth. “Jus’ you.”

Liam shudders and lets himself down carefully, hips pressing to Zayn’s, all too aware of how he’s commando in his sweats and Zayn’s only in his pants. Zayn’s still wearing his vest, though, and it’ll have to go soon, but for now Liam can’t spare his hands, is too busy keeping himself up so he can lick at Zayn’s upper lip, try to keep up with his kiss.

Gripping Liam’s arse, Zayn cants his hips up, makes a frustrated sound when the pressure is almost enough but not quite. Liam knows trying to slow Zayn down will just frustrate him, so he sucks on Zayn’s tongue, makes him chase what he wants, knowing he’ll be asking for more in no time. 

“Li,” Zayn sighs, forehead tipped against Liam’s, and Liam giggles. “C’mon, Z, top off?”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, tilting his chin for a last kiss before Liam leans up to give him room. It’s still awkward, maneuvering to slide out of the vest without elbowing Liam in the chest or face, but he manages it and tosses the shirt out of the bunk, daring Liam with a look to say anything.

Liam doesn’t, just leans back in carefully so their chests bump just before their mouths do. Humming pleasedly at this progress, Zayn manages to get one hand tangled in Liam’s fingers, and he’s not really thinking when he chases Liam’s mouth as he pulls back- “again?” he mumbles, sucking Liam’s lower lip into his mouth and pushing at his chest, rolling them over and-

“Ow,” Liam says, when he’s sure Zayn’s not bitten through his lip on impact. “Zayn-” 

“Shut up,” Zayn mutters, wearily, and throws a forearm over his face. They’re just barely fitting, laying side by side on their backs in the hall floor, and Zayn wants to pretend this never happened. He’d also like to not acknowledge just how disgusting this floor is. He’s pretty sure there’s a jizzed-in pair of Niall’s pants at the small of his back. “I just wanted you to fuck me,” he says, all too aware of _all_ of this, plus the fact that he’s sounding petulant. 

“Maybe we ought to stick to something simpler, in a bunk,” Liam says as gently as he can, dropping a single kiss on Zayn’s shoulder over a skull tattoo. “I’ll- I mean, I wasn’t gonna let you go to bed without, but I had something a bit- less complicated, in mind?”

Zayn rubs at his face and then grabs at Liam’s biceps. It works better, this time, with no further to fall and no real room to move, when he pulls and Liam has to come, half-rolling onto him. Zayn’s face is flushed darkly, but he meets Liam’s eyes defiantly and raises his eyebrows. “We can do it here, then.”

Liam snorts a laugh, half-dropping his forehead onto Zayn’s shoulder. It quickly turns nervous, though, as he’s the only one laughing at all. “Zayn, c’mon.”

Zayn tries to smile as Liam raises his head, shrugs awkwardly. “Yeah,” he says, “stupid, just. Yeah.”

Although Liam’s first impulse is to do absolutely anything to make Zayn feel better and stop him grimacing, including fucking him right there on the disgusting bus hallway floor, he goes for a gentle nudge of his nose against Zayn’s instead. “Hey, not _stupid_ , just... irresponsible, a bit. Unsanitary.”

Zayn nods again, although he can’t quite meet Liam’s eyes this time, staring at his shoulder instead. Now that Liam’s mentioned it, he’s acutely aware of the fact that they’re sprawled, mostly naked, in the main hallway, and it seems like a bigger deal than before, makes his skin itch, not just from the crumbs in the carpet. He pushes gently at Liam’s shoulders. “Let’s just- ugh.”

Liam gets on his feet and helps Zayn up, dusts off his back and gives his neck a nuzzle. “Maybe- what if we went to the back? I don’t know if- we might get in trouble if we actually fuck anywhere on the bus, to be honest, but we could- dunno.”

Zayn presses forward to hide his face in the curve of Liam’s neck, arms squished up between them, fingers pushed against Liam’s breastbone. He doesn’t really want to talk about it anymore, but Liam’s not going to let it go, and the cuddles are nice. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “I just- s’been so long, Li.”

“We could try the bunk again,” Liam hums, tracing Zayn’s spine with his fingertips. “Just like. Spooning, you know? Maybe that could work.”

Unable to check the shiver that races his spine straight to his feet, Zayn leans back to check Liam’s face. “Do you-” he bites his lip, fixes on Liam’s mouth to get the words out. “I mean, not- if you don’t wanna.”

 _Of course I wanna when you look at me like that_ , Liam doesn’t say. “It’s really been too long,” he nods, instead; “I miss- it, I guess. Miss feeling you like that.”

Zayn nods, swallowing hard against the relief and the fondness that well up at Liam’s honesty. He’ll tell him later about that, how much he appreciates that Liam doesn’t try to seem unaffected or appear passe. “Me too,” he whispers, “Not like- the boys won’t come back here for a bit yet, and it’s not... ‘m not going to last. Won’t take long, if you’re worried.” 

“I don’t care about the boys right now,” Liam says and surprises himself. He isn’t lying; the urge to make Zayn so, so happy bubbles up inside him and he almost wants to drag Zayn back into his bunk and not say anything else. All of a sudden he just _knows_ Zayn’s been wanting so much, and although Liam’s been giving him as much as he can, he wants more, wants to make Zayn feel good. “I just care about you. Us.”

“Li,” Zayn says, defeatedly, and throws his arms around Liam’s neck, steps in close between Liam’s wide stance. It’s so overwhelming, sometimes, how Liam can _get_ it, even when Zayn’s trying not to be selfish and trying not to scare him off with how much he can just _want_. “I- thanks, just. What d’you want?”

Liam fits his hands over Zayn’s hips, fingertips pressing into warm skin. “Want you in my bunk,” he mutters, nudging their foreheads together. “‘fore the lads wander back here. We can draw the little curtain, at least.”

Zayn can’t help the choked laugh that bubbles up at that, and he nods, fiercely, turning his face so he can kiss at Liam’s neck, a sweet parallel to the moments they’d shared earlier in the evening. “Please,” he mumbles. “Li, c’mon.”

“Done quite enough chit-chatting, haven’t we?” Liam grins and lets Zayn slip into the bunk first. “Wait, lemme-” he mutters and grabs his toiletry bag from his backpack on the floor, digs out a small bottle of lube. “Just, y’know. Important,” he laughs nervously, crawling in behind Zayn and catching his mouth in a kiss that warms up quick, all teeth and tongues.

“Curtain,” Zayn says, in between pushing his tongue into Liam’s mouth and sucking Liam’s tongue into his own. “ _Li_ -am.”

“Curtain,” Liam smudges against Zayn’s lips and almost hits his head as he sits up and draws up the little divider curtain, flips the light switch on the wall. The bunk light is terrible- Liam’s pretty sure the bulb has been dying since their first night on the bus, yet somehow it persists- and it’s a bit hard to see what they’re doing, but there’s an illusion of privacy and a shield for any innocent bystander’s eyes, at least.

“Really-” Zayn bites at Liam’s upper lip and licks over it quickly, squeezes his bicep. “Sorry, I just- been waiting so long, need you-” he sighs, exhale harsh as he ducks back from Liam’s face. “If you- I’d be. Fingers’d work? Just I, got ready in the shower, and. Please?” He makes a face at himself, but doesn’t apologize for the disjointed request. Liam has to know by now that he’s the reason.

“Fingers,” Liam nods, as if Zayn had made perfect sense. He sucks a kiss to Zayn’s lower lip and then nudges his shoulder with his knuckles, smiles even in the dark. “C’mon, I can- you can get on your side? Does that work for you?”

Zayn snorts, rolls over without a second thought, looking back at Liam. “Anything at this point,” he says, quiet but honest, shrugs a little. “You?”

“‘s fine,” Liam nods, kisses Zayn’s shoulderblade. Zayn doesn’t have much of a wide frame, but like this, his back looks like it goes on forever, endless expanses of soft skin. “Need help with your pants? Can you kick ‘em off?”

“Just- pull ‘em down,” Zayn says, shoving at the front of his waistband elastic impatiently. “S’fine.”

Liam hums, tucks his fingertips at the back of Zayn’s boxer briefs and pulls them down to mid-thigh, spreads a hand on Zayn’s arse. Neither of them really has much of a bum, but Liam can appreciate that, gives Zayn a cheeky squeeze, thumbing the cap of the lube open with his other hand.

Zayn shoves his bum back for Liam, bracing a hand on the back wall of the bunk and smoothing his other down his thigh. He can feel the jitters just waiting to spring to the surface, hopes Liam won’t make him wait, now that they’re so close. 

“I’ve got you,” Liam soothes, as if he’d read Zayn’s mind, and presses a fingertip to Zayn’s rim. The lube is still a little cold, for which Liam apologizes with a sucking kiss at Zayn’s nape, but his index finger slides in easy, has Zayn sighing in relief.

“Yeah,” Zayn mumbles, after a second, tucking his chin to give Liam more room to mouth up the knobs of his spine. His mouth feels so nice, warm and wet and insistent, and it’s the best counterpoint to how slow he’s going further down Zayn’s body, finger just starting to twist, barely curled inside of Zayn. “G’on, told you, already-”

“It’s not a race, though,” Liam counters, the slightest edge of his teeth grazing Zayn’s skin. He adds a second finger, anyway, works it steadily alongside the first and savors every little sound Zayn makes.

Two is better, and Zayn’s sure Liam can tell, can’t really keep his mouth shut when Liam is pressing one big hand into the curve where his arse meets thigh and spreading him open for his fingers, tucking them inside carefully slick and _warm_. Closing his eyes, Zayn lets Liam be right for a moment, enjoy what he has. Contentment is hard, though, when Liam shifts, making a tiny noise of his own to counter Zayn’s, and Zayn can feel just the hint of his cock, blunt and firm, against his arse. He’d try to be good, try not to be greedy when Liam’s already made it clear he’s not sure they should do more than this on the bus, but Zayn honestly can’t help the instinctive way his body clenches down on Liam’s fingers, the hiss that escapes through clenched teeth.

Liam’s mouth has gone dry and he licks at his lips over and over. It’s hard to slide his fingers smoothly inside Zayn when he’s gone so tight, and he wants to grind up on Zayn’s arse, or- well. “Zayn,” he mutters, lower than he’d expected, “think you could keep quiet, if.”

“If,” Zayn echoes, trying and failing to relax. His back feels like he’s been wound up like a toy, but there’s a thumb keeping the gear from coming loose, and he settles his other hand next to his first on the wall of the bunk. 

“I could- give you a couple of fingers,” Liam offers. “Not- not these,” he mutters, curls the two fingers inside Zayn and Zayn clamps his mouth shut, whimpers. “Like, to just- help you keep quiet? If you want? Because- god, I really want you, Zayn, you’re so good like this.”

Zayn’s cock jumps against his hip, and he’s still not relaxed around Liam’s fingers, thighs tense and back arched. He just wants so much, and he’s afraid to move or even breathe, thinking it might break the spell or make Liam take back his words. “Please?” he asks, barely a whisper. “I’ll be- so quiet, Li, if you want, so quiet.”

“‘s not that I don’t wanna hear you,” Liam explains, brows furrowed. “It’s just- with the lads and things, don’t wanna-”

“I know, Liam,” Zayn cuts him off, impatient but fond. “Just. Y’can help me stay quiet? Please?”

Liam presses his face into Zayn’s sharp shoulder blade, groaning. “You don’t fucking know,” he starts, and drags his teeth against the bone, just to hear Zayn gasp. They’re nowhere near even, won’t be, no matter what Liam ever does, as long as Zayn doesn’t even realize how irresistible he is to Liam. Liam’s so glad this isn’t about _even_. “Yeah, babe,” he says, “yeah, just- you good?”

“Yes,” Zayn hisses, “Liam, fuck’s sake, are you going to or not? Just- it’ll be fine, yeah? _Please_.”

It’s been so long that Liam can only nod, doesn’t even spare a second to ask Zayn if he’s sure, or if maybe he wants another finger first, or- he just needs this, they both do, and Liam scissors his fingers once before pulling them out, shoving his sweats down roughly and slicking his cock up to press at Zayn’s hole, desperate. “Just- gimme a minute to like- and I’ll give you fingers, yeah?”

“Please,” Zayn repeats, just a whisper, fingers flexing on the back wall of the bunk like he might shove himself back onto Liam’s cock, like he’s thinking about it. He doesn’t, stays perfectly still as much as he can control- his chest’s still heaving, cock jerking up against his stomach now, head shiny with precome, toes curling against Liam’s calves under their sheets. “Li- c’n beg if you want, just.”

“Hey, you’re alright,” Liam hums. He kisses Zayn’s shoulder once, drops his forehead on the same spot to look as he nudges forward, one hand around his cock and the other spreading Zayn open for him. “Relax, yeah,” he groans, pushes in steadily and without pausing. He wants to press up against Zayn’s back so badly, to line up with him so they’re touching everywhere, each other’s at last without anyone to look or hear or give attention to but the other.

Impossibly, Zayn does, leaning forward a little, knees coming up so Liam can shift further against him, spoon him up proper as he bottoms out. His hands come off the wall to hold his mouth shut, and when Liam leans up to check his face, his eyes are squinched tightly shut, too, all an obvious effort to keep his promise and stay quiet. 

“You’re _amazing_ , Zayn, so good,” Liam rattles off, a little overwhelmed, himself, at the feeling of Zayn hot and tight and wet around him. “I can- want me to put a couple fingers in your mouth, maybe? So you can stay quiet.”

Zayn lets his head fall back against Liam’s shoulder, nodding quickly, eyelids fluttering half-closed. He doesn’t take his own hands away, though, until Liam is pushing his arm under Zayn’s ribs, holding his clean hand up and tapping at his chin. Carefully, he pulls his fingers away then, and Liam would laugh at how dramatic this all is, but Zayn whimpers, like he’s honestly not able to keep the noises in without help, and Liam can’t help rolling his hips just to hear it as he presses two fingertips to Zayn’s lower lip.

“Ahh, shit,” Zayn chokes, bending forward and biting down on Liam’s fingers just past the knuckle, tongue firmly pressed against them. “ _fuck_.”

“Fuck,” Liam echoes, draws his hips back just a little before grinding in hard again. It’s hard to get much leverage with his legs still tangled up in his sweats, but he doesn’t mind much. Zayn doesn’t, either, if the moans he’s stifling against Liam’s fingers are anything to go by.

Zayn wishes he could tell Liam he was right, earlier, remind him that it really _won’t_ take long for him to get off like this, but the best he can manage is to suck Liam’s fingers further into his mouth, arch his back until he can feel Liam’s balls pressed to his ass and bear down on the feeling of him, heated and thick.

To make up for the lack of momentum he can get inside the tiny bunk, Liam works up a quick, hard pace, hips slapping against Zayn’s arse. Suddenly the feelings from earlier are back, that raw wanting from when they were onstage and Zayn nailed every single one of his solos and smiled at Liam from the other side of the stage, and he presses his fingertips down on Zayn’s tongue, muffles a grunt of his own against Zayn’s shoulder.

“Please,” Zayn tries to say, and it comes out thick and muffled by Liam’s fingers, but he’s sure Liam gets it, can feel it in the way he goes stiff behind Zayn for a mere second and then presses forward harder, fiercer. Zayn’s bracing himself again, both hands splayed on the bunk wall to keep from being pushed into it face first, and he can feel himself tensing up with the heat in his stomach bubbling up into his chest, making it hard to breathe, making his entire body go tense with anticipation.

“Fuck,” Liam gasps, and he’s pretty sure if they were on a bed it’d be rocking, shifted from side to side with the force of his thrusts. It hurts, a little, bites at his hipbones- and he can only imagine what it’ll do to Zayn, bruise him for a day at the very least- but feels incredible, his orgasm building quick. “Won’t last, Z, sorry,” he grunts, and Zayn sinks his teeth into his fingers as Liam slides his hand over Zayn's hip, down the v-cut of his stomach to touch his cock.

Liam’s barely wrapped his palm around it, guiding it up so he can angle to jerk Zayn off, when Zayn comes, spunk spattering onto the bunk wall, strands connecting to the tangled sheets. Zayn gasps like he’s been punched, and Liam’s fingers hit the back of his throat, making him choke and whimper, and Liam suddenly has the worst thoughts of shoving Zayn down on his cock until he gags, of keeping Zayn’s hands off his cock for days until he explodes like this and has enough come to splatter their bedroom wall instead of just the short back of the bunk. 

Letting go of his cock to clutch at Zayn’s inner thigh, pressing it up so he can push in further, Liam squeezes his eyes shut and comes deep inside him. He has to clamp his mouth shut to keep from moaning loudly, wriggles his fingers still in Zayn’s mouth as a sort of sympathetic gesture. It’s just- it’s impossible to keep quiet with how hot and tight and _perfect_ Zayn feels around him, still clenching through the aftershocks of his orgasm, and he wouldn’t want to keep quiet if it was just him and Zayn. “Yes,” he gasps, smushing a kiss to Zayn’s shoulder. He feels like laughing, relieved and sated and _happy_.

Zayn pushes Liam’s fingers away with his tongue until he gets the hint and draws them out, letting his hand fall damp against Zayn’s sweaty chest. Zayn’s still curled in on himself, doesn’t seem motivated to move and doesn’t look back at Liam, but he moves one hand from the back of the bunk and twists his elbow to press the tip of his pointer finger to Liam’s lower lip. “Whazzat about keeping quiet, Li?”

Rather than give him an answer, Liam sucks Zayn’s fingertip between his lips, inhales sharply at the unexpected taste of Zayn’s come. It’s barely a hint, a tiny little smear he can lick off Zayn’s finger as he pulls it away, but it makes him want more, humming appreciatively. “I was quiet,” he shrugs, trying to stifle a smile, and trails his fingers down from Zayn’s chest to his tummy, blindly searching out the come splattered on his skin.

Zayn whines when the back of Liam’s knuckles nudge his softening prick, shifts a little in his arms. “Louder’n me,” he counters. “Bet they all know y’just came in my arse.”

Liam feels his cheeks go warm. “I wasn’t even that loud,” he mutters, drawing his hand back and bringing it up to his lips to flick his tongue over his fingertips. As an afterthought, pulling his arm free from beneath Zayn and spreading his hand at the small of Zayn’s back, he pulls out slowly, smiling triumphantly around his index and middle finger when Zayn gasps.

“Never get used to that,” Zayn mumbles, turning his face further into the pillow. Liam can imagine the new flush spreading over his cheeks right now. Zayn hasn’t talked about it, but Liam’s pretty sure that he likes it better without a condom. He always acts sheepish and casual like it’s not a big deal, and Liam’s okay with that, okay with waiting for Zayn to explain it. Maybe Liam will just have to try it himself.

For now he has his own dirty post-sex curiosities, which find his free hand trailing again to Zayn’s lower stomach. There’s not much for him to steal, the majority of Zayn’s come going tacky in the sheets and on the wall, but Liam bites his lip and brushes his fingers up the shaft of Zayn’s cock, lying in the crease of his thigh. It’s still hot and sticky to the touch, and Liam isn’t sure why this is a big deal but he _wants_.

Zayn has gone quiet and stiff against him, and he raises his head, slowly. “What’re you doing?”

“Huh?” Liam mutters innocently, wiping up a fat drop of come with his thumb and immediately bringing it up to his mouth.

Zayn turns around- it takes him a moment with the soreness in his bum and the lack of space in Liam’s cramped bunk, but he manages to face Liam, brows furrowed and hands curled up against his chest. “Like, you’re. Why d’you do that?”

Liam’s pleased by this development- he can see Zayn’s tummy know, knows exactly where to swipe his fingers. “Do wh- oh.” He stops, hand poised above a smudge of come on Zayn’s hip.

“You don’t- have to,” Zayn says, slowly, “like, I mean. I don’t expect you to? I know it’s sort of-” he makes a face, wrinkling his forehead and nose all up and watching Liam expectantly. 

“I- don’t mind it?” Liam tries, but knows as he says it that Zayn won’t buy it. 

Zayn raises an eyebrow and slowly, deliberately, moves his own hand down to his cock, thumbs off a smear of come. He raises his hand just as slow, like Liam might shy away after all this, and doesn’t quite bring it to Liam’s mouth, just holds it between them. 

It isn’t- it’s not a big deal. At least that’s what Liam tells himself, tipping his head forward and sucking Zayn’s thumb, tongue laving over the pad to chase the tangy, salty taste off.

“Jesus,” Zayn whispers, and grabs at Liam’s chin, yanking him in and pressing his own mouth to Liam’s, licking at his lips. It’s quick, and then he’s pulling back, shaking his head. “So,” he says, and grins at Liam.

“I like it, even,” Liam admits, can’t help a nervous little laugh. “Dunno, just. Yeah.”

Zayn’s smile doesn’t fade, even as his eyes grow impossibly warm, fond, as he looks at Liam. Eventually he ducks his head. “I... like when you come inside,” he says, just above a whisper, breathed out against Liam’s shoulder. 

Liam nuzzles the side of Zayn’s head. He can’t stop smiling. “I like it too, yeah,” he tells Zayn. “It’s like. I mean, this’ll sound awful,” he mutters, can feel Zayn huffing against his neck but continues, “but- we don’t need them, you know- condoms, I mean, and. I like that you’re... mine, like this.”

“Proper caveman, Payne,” Zayn says, and drags his teeth across Liam’s collarbone, sets them into the soft skin just below it. “D’you mind if I-? Y’mine, too, y’know.”

“Hmmm?” Liam sighs, eyes fluttering closed at the feel of Zayn’s teeth- not a sting just yet, but the promise of it. “I- yeah, just not, y’know.” They’re both well aware of how visible marks are banned, no exceptions.

Liam can feel Zayn’s jaw clench against his chest, but he nods, hums his acknowledgement pleasantly enough. He’s not rough with it, either, running his tongue along some invisible boundaries he’s set for himself before pursing his lips, sucking Liam’s skin up against his teeth. Zayn doesn’t work at it long, just enough for it to be a deep pink, light indentations to show off the dig of his canines, and it’ll bruise, later, but it’s almost floral now, innocent enough. 

Zayn kisses it and then kisses up Liam’s neck to just behind his ear, nuzzles into his shaved hair and goes still. “Counting on you t’get me first shower in th’morning,” he says, voice gone muzzy with sleep. Liam’s honestly only surprised he’s lasted this long.

“We can team up,” Liam decides. There’s a tiny shower stall in the bus loo, but no one’s really given that a go, especially knowing that there’s about a 90% chance that the water will be freezing cold. When they get to the hotel, though, maybe they can have a shower together. “Although- I mean, we wouldn’t _need_ to, I don’t think?”

“D’n’t mean I don’t wanna,” Zayn frowns. He’ll be cranky in the morning, having to put on clothes to get from the bus to their hotel room while still smelly and sticky, but Liam will be right there to nudge him along, making silly jokes to ruin his grump.

Liam agrees, “Sharing’s nice,” and drapes an arm over Zayn’s side, fingertips finding the dip of Zayn’s spine. “We can share.”

Zayn snorts a laugh against Liam’s neck. “You’re gonna have terrible morning breath, mate.”

“Don’t kiss me, then,” Liam shrugs, and drops a kiss on the side of Zayn’s head. “That’s it, ‘s all you get ‘till I can find a toothbrush. Which may be ages.”

“Oh well,” Zayn mumbles. He doesn’t sound particularly worried. “We’ll manage.”


End file.
